


Socks

by HJaneMay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HJaneMay/pseuds/HJaneMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble. Winky sorts through Dobby's room no knowing Dobby is, well... Takes place in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks

**Author's Note:**

> For the fanfiction.net drabble challenge.

It was Winky that cleaned up Dobby’s room. She was regarded by the other house elves as something of a shame to their ranks, but Winky still worked at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had not fired her after the incident with her poor master and his successor, Master Snape, never took any notice of her. So Winky slowly and steadily deteriorated, until there was nothing in her appearance to remind you of the house elf she had been. Her eyes were now permanently bloodshot from her large daily intake of butterbeer and her dirty rags hung off her frame, draped in folds of loose skin, like an elf of a much lower position. 

The other elves avoided her, occasionally muttering about Winky’s lack of industriousness. She did not care: Winky was still stuck in that mentality of thinking she was Barty Crouch’s house elf, and she had never gained any loyalty for Hogwarts. Although it had been three years since she had been dismissed from his service, Winky still clung to her memories of Mr. Crouch.

Dobby was only friend at Hogwarts. He was accepted more than Winky, but his scandalous demand for a pay would prevent him from ever being totally embraced by the other house elves. Winky always thought she did not care about Dobby one way or another; yes, he took care of her in her drunken stupors, but she told herself it was because of some duty he felt obligated to fulfill toward Winky, and not out of affection. 

Yet here he was, missing, and Winky was the one cleaning his room. 

He was not a slob, Dobby. The simple fact was: He had far too many items for his tiny room. House elves lived sparingly -- and it was under this expectation that they were given such small rooms. Cubbyholes, really. Dobby, with his unnatural wages, went out and bought things -- things for himself, things for others. He was quite stylish, Winky admitted, as she sorted his large collection of socks in piles. She liked the maroon ones the best, though she would never tell Dobby that.

He had quite a bit of woolly hats, too, but nothing compared to his stock of socks. They were his favorite thing to wear. She supposed it was because Dobby was set free by a sock -- “by Harry Potter” Dobby had told her numerous times, a light lit by love shining in his eyes.

She told herself she was not worried about him. Dobby had never missed work before. It wasn't even his day off. Winky knew that Dobby was involved in things -- things it was not a good house elf’s business to be involved in. At the same time, Winky knew Dobby was not traditional in any way. His magnificent assortment of socks said that much. He would go meddling in the affairs of humans.

The other house elves thought Dobby was dead. She could see it in their eyes. She could almost hear their thoughts: “A house elf can't live like that and not expect to run into trouble.” She tried to shut them out. Dobby was just missing… maybe he was doing something for that barman he liked so much. He was not dead.

Winky held one sock in her hand, debating whether to put it in the pile with the patterned socks or the ones with little pictures woven in them. It was one of his favorites, for it looked like little red and yellow lightning bolts were scattered across it.


End file.
